


The Luck of the Irish

by randi2204



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies), The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: 3K Round-up Challenge, Crack Crossover, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 16:15:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7899490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randi2204/pseuds/randi2204
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two Irish boys get off the stagecoach in a sleepy western town.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Luck of the Irish

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JoJo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoJo/gifts).



> **Disclaimer:** Not mine, no money.

The stage rocked to a stop outside the coach station.  From his position down the street outside the saloon, Buck watched closely as the passengers disembarked, some of them a little pale and queasy-looking.  They each slowly made their way to the hotels along the street.

 

Before too long, though, two of them appeared on the street again.  They were both men, both of a height, and while they didn’t look much alike, the way they stood, the way they walked, as if they already knew what the other was going to do... well, it put Buck in the mind of some brothers he’d known. 

 

They wore black simple black coats and black trousers; their boots were well-worn and dusty.  Buck couldn’t see that they carried guns, but they had a confidence around them that made it almost a certainty.  _Have to warn Chris about ‘em,_ he thought.

 

They came to a stop as one in front of where Buck sat with his feet propped up on the boardwalk rail.  “Beggin’ yer pardon,” one of them said, “but is there a church?”

 

His accent was unmistakably Irish; Buck had to swallow the memory of the Nichols clan, of Dicky O’Shea.  After all, these boys hadn’t done anything.  “Yeah,” Buck replied, pointing to the far end of the street.  “Down there.  Preacher might not be in, though,” he added.  Josiah was actually in the saloon behind him, having lunch, but if they _needed_ him, they might wait.

 

The two looked at each other, then the second one said, “Aye, that’s fine, we’re not lookin’ for confession.”

 

“He leaves the door open,” Buck offered.  “Says that the Lord should be available all the time.”

 

The Irish boys smiled at each other.  “Sounds like the Father knows what he’s talkin’ about,” the first said.  He wasn’t wearing a hat, but he nodded his head toward Buck.  “Thank ye.”

 

Buck nodded in return and the two made their way along the street, jabbering at each other in some language that might have been Irish but certainly wasn’t English.  He only caught a few words before they were out of earshot.  He tugged his hat brim low and pretended not to watch them as they disappeared into the church.

 

A few minutes later, Josiah pushed out through the batwing doors.  “Buck,” he greeted.  “Inez says if you want something to eat, you’d better hurry.”

 

Buck pushed up his hat, grinning.  “Well, how can I resist such an invitation?”  He rose, then paused with his hand on the door.  “Josiah, a couple of Irish fellas went up to the church.  Said they weren’t lookin’ for confession, so I didn’t call you.”

 

Josiah studied the church door, still standing open, and shook his head slightly.  “The Irish can be very devout,” was all he said before striding down the street.

 

In the end, he didn’t have to warn Chris about the Irish fellas, because they started a brawl that evening in the saloon.  To be fair, though, they were provoked; the drunken miner at the next table heard their accents and announced that the Irish should all go back to Ireland and keep growing taters and let men who knew their ass from a bog in the ground—

 

That was the point where the one with the slightly darker hair rose up and punched the miner square in the face.  Unfortunately, the miner had friends with him; fortunately, they were all as drunk as the first.  The fight broke up right quick when Chris fired his gun into the ceiling and ordered them all out.

 

“Apologies for the mess,” the Irish fella with the worried brow said to Inez.  “We can pay ye some for the damages…” His brother shifted slightly, and the first elbowed him in the side.  “Ye get into a fight, ye pay for it, my dear brudder.”

 

Inez seemed charmed by them, but she took the few coins they offered nonetheless, and watched as they bickered their way out onto the street, again not speaking English.

 

They were waiting at the stage station the next morning and were the first aboard the coach.  While slipping away from Miss Violet’s room to his own at the boarding house, Buck saw them.  They didn’t seem to have any more than one small carpetbag between them.  _Must be why they don’t want to let it out of sight,_ he thought slowly, rubbing his chin, as they argued with the coachman.  The Irish boys got on the stage, one of them carrying the bag.  _Guess they won,_ Buck thought, grinning, and finished making his way back to his room.

 

The next stagecoach from back east arrived a couple days later, and Buck was again in his chair on the boardwalk to keep an eye on those intrepid travelers.  After the passengers had collected their baggage, the driver grabbed a familiar leather satchel from the roof of the stage.

 

Buck pushed himself up from the chair when the driver went into the jail, then waited until he’d left again before moseying on over.

 

One of the things JD took very seriously about their charge from Judge Travis was checking out the wanted posters they received every few weeks; sometimes there were only updates on older posters, saying this one or that was captured or killed.  But he still examined everything real close.

 

One of Buck’s favorite things was to tease him about those posters, and just how likely it would be that anyone on them would pass through their town.  _Never stops the kid, though,_ he thought with just a hint of admiration.

 

After the coach driver headed back toward the stage station, Buck sauntered across the street and into the jail.  As expected, JD had the wanted posters spread across the desk; he studied one intently before setting it aside and picking up the next.

 

“Any _dangerous criminals_ pretendin’ to be normal everyday townfolk?” Buck demanded, and grinned widely as JD twitched, nearly tumbling backward out of the chair.

 

“Jeez, Buck,” JD complained, smoothing out the paper that he’d clutched while trying not to fall.  “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

 

“I come over to help you and that’s the thanks I get?”

 

JD rolled his eyes.  “Well, since you’re offering…” He gestured to some of the posters spread across the desk.

 

With a sigh of exasperation that was mostly feigned, he picked up a poster and gave it a cursory glance.  “Bank robbers,” he snorted.  “Probably in Mexico by now.”  He tossed it aside and grabbed another.

 

“Stage robbers,” JD remarked, rattling the paper he held before putting it off to one side.

 

Frowning, Buck studied the poster carefully, then leaned out the door to see if Josiah was in earshot.  Seeing him heading down the street, he called his name and gestured him toward the jail.

 

“Something going on?” Josiah asked as he entered.

 

Buck thrust the poster at him.  “We seen anyone looks like that recently?”

 

Josiah took one look at the poster and sighed, a hand coming up to rub his forehead.  “I think we have.”

 

JD rose from behind the desk, the chair creaking behind him.  “What? Who?”

 

“The Irish fellas, the ones that started the fight in the saloon,” Buck said over his shoulder.  “They’re wanted for murder in Boston.”

 

“Murder?” JD blurted, his hands going to his guns.  “Whew.  They are a _long_ way from Boston now.”

 

“Indeed they are, JD,” Josiah said, setting down the poster.  “Reckon they’re almost in San Francisco by now.”

 

“And from there, they can go just about anywhere,” Buck added.  “Even back to Ireland, if they’re careful.”

 

“They seemed like nice boys.” Josiah shook his head.  “Very polite.”

 

“They’re not that nice if they’re killin’ people,” JD pointed out, tapping his fingers on the butts of his guns.  “Bad luck that we didn’t get this before they got here… we coulda held ‘em for Judge Travis.”

 

“Well, you know what they say about the luck of the Irish,” Josiah said thoughtfully.

 

Buck snorted. “What, that it’s all bad?”

 

Josiah shrugged. “Can’t be all bad – they managed to outrun _this_.  But I was thinking more that even the worst luck must turn eventually.”

 

“Don’t reckon Ezra would agree with you there,” he replied, grinning.  “He says luck is fickle.”

 

Josiah nodded, straightening his hat.  “That’s exactly what I mean.”

 

***

March 29, 2016

**Author's Note:**

> For the [mag7daybook](http://mag7daybook.dreamwidth.org/) prompt, [Any, any, the luck of the Irish](http://mag7daybook.dreamwidth.org/193407.html?thread=1907583#cmt1907583).


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